The Enchanting Solona Amell
by gentlegiantamdir
Summary: Alistair had always liked a good joke, but this time, he wasn't laughing.


Hey there. As you might be able to tell, this is my first fanfiction. The basic idea for this story popped into my head the other day, and I couldn't stop thinking about it, so I decided to go ahead and write this down. I'd appreciate any feedback that you might have, and hope you enjoy it.

King Alistair Theirin, first of his name, sat huddled in the small boat as it crossed Lake Calenhad. He dreaded going to Kinloch Hold, but he had a promise to keep. As one last favor to the Hero of Ferelden, he had promised to grant the Ferelden Circle of Magi independence. He was on his way to the Circle Tower now to keep that promise. After today's ceremony, the Circle would finally be free to forge its own destiny. This was the first time he had been to the Circle in almost a year, and he was trying hard to not think about the previous time he had been on this lake. Naturally, he was failing miserably.

 _It was dark and cold, but then again, this was Ferelden. It was always dark and cold. Alistair was used to them both, but the spray from the lake was a new one. Alistair liked to think of himself as a collector of misfortunes, and he took a certain perverse pleasure in experiencing new discomforts. Not that this ever stopped his complaining, which he sometimes did just for the fun of it. However, cold, damp, and cramped aside, this was far from an unpleasant experience. The boat that they commandeered to take them to Kinloch Hold could only fit two people, apart from the man navigating it, and Alistair had the extreme fortune to be sharing the boat with with his friend and fellow Grey Warden, Solona Amell. She was telling him a story about life in the Circle, a place where she excelled magically but always chafed under its limitations. She told him of First Enchanter Irving and Knight Commander Greagor, who she was convinced were sleeping together; of Jowan, the greasy little blood made they had encountered at Redcliffe, who had gotten her kicked out of the Tower; and of the Tranquil, who creeped her out, and how she would rather die than become little more than a glorified vegetable like them. Alistair, on the other hand, thought that life as a cabbage wouldn't be so bad. Her stories was glib and irreverent, perhaps overly so, but that was her style. Alistair liked to think of himself as a funny man, but he could not hold a candle to Solona's dry, sarcastic wit. He found her enrapturing. Intelligent, clever, beautiful, with flaming red hair, and a natural leader, she was electrifying to be near. He had taken to thinking of her as "the enchanting Solona Amell". He had thought that was pretty clever, and when he had told Bodhan, the only person in their small group he felt brave enough to share the joke with, the dwarf had chuckled his appreciation. And so, the boat ride continued for several more hours as the mage told story after story, Alistair not noting the passage of time, the biting cold, or the fact that he was madly in love with this remarkable woman._

All too quickly, the boat arrived at Kinloch Hold, and somehow, King Alistair was even more miserable as he disembarked than he had been on the frigid lake. He was greeted by a senior enchanter, though he had not paid attention to the man's name, and was led into the tower. As he sullenly ignored his guide's attempts to engage him in conversation, he noted what a bad king and ungracious guest he was being, but he could not bring himself to care. He was greeted in the tower's entryway by First Enchanter Irving and Knight Commander Greagor. The pleasantries due to and from a king were exchanged, though perhaps Irving noticed something in the king's eyes, as he quickly ended them and began to lead the procession to the great hall. He spoke the whole way of how far the Circle had come in the three short months since the end of the Blight. Alistair suspected that the First Enchanter was giving this commentary as much to take focus from the king as it was to inform him, and he was grateful. As much as she had always hated life in the Circle and make endless jokes about the old man, Solona had nothing but respect and love for Irving. In the handful of times that Alistair had met the man, he could see why. Kind of heart and perceptive, Irving was an ideal father figure.

Through the long walk to the great hall, Alistair either kept his eyes locked straight ahead or cast down toward the ground. He knew what a coward he was being, but the thought of the alternative was too much to bear. At one point, he saw the dull outline of a burn mark not entirely scoured away, and the memories flooded back immediately- luminous in a corona of flame, robes whipping around her frame as she burned away the demons and abominations with her magic- and, blanching, Alistair quickened his pace. At last, they arrived at their destination, to find that it was packed with mages. Greagor separated himself from their group and approached the front of the hall, where he began the ceremony. After a long introduction from the Knight Commander, the dais was given over to Irving, and the ceremony dragged on. As Alistair waited for his part, he continued to do his best to not look around him, but he could not avoid the mage at the front of the hall attempting to catch his eye. His former companion, the senior enchanter Wynne, offered him a compassionate and sympathetic smile, but he did not see it, as her face made him sink deep into his memories.

 _Alistair ran as fast as he could through Fort Drakon, cursing every darkspawn he encountered for slowing him down. He didn't have time for these delays. Everything was crashing down around him. He had to get to the roof, where he could hear the cataclysmic battle raging above him. When Solona had left him at the gates of Denerim, he had allowed himself to believe that she would be safe. Riordan would be there to kill the Archdemon. He was nearing his Calling, and this was what he wanted. Plus, Alistair was to be king now. His soldiers needed to see him fighting with them. But then everything had gone wrong. He saw the Archdemon plummet from the sky and crash atop the fort, but any cheer that he felt had turned to dread as he saw the small form fall from the dragon. Instinctively, he knew it was Riordan, and he knew that the Archdemon was not dead. His insides froze. Now, there was only one Grey Warden left within the city, and he knew what she was going to do._

 _As he ran, all that Alistair could think of was one of the last conversations that they had had. Overcome with the crushing duty ahead of him, Alistair had broken off the relationship that he had with Solona. He loved her with all of his heart, with everything that he was, but, now that he was to be king, there was no way they could work. A king needed heirs, and the odds of two Wardens conceiving were so painfully long. He needed to put his nation before himself, no matter how much it hurt. He had tried so hard, but now, as he desperately tried to reach her, he knew he had made a terrible mistake. Maker damn duty. Maker damn Ferelden. Nothing was more important than her._

 _Finally, he burst out onto the rooftop, and was greeted by a nightmare. Dead soldiers covered Drakon's roof, and there, in the center, was the Archdemon, alone. No, he was wrong, it was not alone. There was one figure standing in front of it. There, bloody, robes and armor torn, sword in hand, stood Solona. The arcane warrior was clearly exhausted, as none of her signature spells swirled around her, but still she fought on. Desperate, he ran for her, barely noticing as he passed the felled forms of Wynne, Shale, and Leliana. He was almost there. He could still save her. He could… Everything suddenly went still. Solona's sword was lodged underneath Archdemon's lower jaw. With a scream of extreme effort, she ripped the sword down through the dragon's throat. The monster convulsed, tried to throw her, be she held on. There was a brilliant, blinding flash of light, and when Alistair could see again, it was all over. The enchanting Solona Amell was gone._

King Alistair was shaken out of his memories just as Irving was approaching the end of his speech. He had just enough time to collect himself before the entire hall's attention turned to him. He climbed the dais, thanked Irving for his kind words, and began to deliver his own prepared speech. Public speaking was still not easy, and he did not think it ever would be, but it had become easier. In fact, Alistair thought he sounded almost kingly, if a little bit emotionless, but honestly, who could blame him? It had been an exhausting three months, let alone the year of Blight before that. Also, the king's relationship with the Hero of Ferelden was the worst kept secret in the kingdom, so everyone here had some idea of what he was feeling. He was sure that, in time, the minstrels would sing songs of the tragic love story of the king who failed to save his Hero. He didn't care. He didn't care about much anymore. Once, he had laughed at his chronic ill luck, but life had saved its cruelest joke for last, and he wasn't laughing anymore.

Thankfully, his speech was over quickly, and, after paying his last dues to his subjects and the Circle dignitaries, he hastened a quick retreat. The trip had gone about as well as could be expected, and he had no desire to linger. He followed the path back to the docks, the same path he had taken nearly a year and a lifetime ago, when his pure and idealistic love for the woman beside him drove away the horrors that they had witnessed. He was nearly to the entrance now, and then this terrible, exhausting day would be behind him. He could retreat back to Denerim and lose himself in his work again. But then, as he passed a workroom, a sickeningly familiar voice froze him in his place, and once again, the world around him collapsed.

"Thank you for visiting the Circle, Your Grace. I hope you have a pleasant trip back to the capital."

Unable to stop himself, King Alistair turned slowly, laying eyes on a face he knew all too well. Flaming red hair, slightly shorter and without styling, framed a face bearing the still-healing scars of a terrible burn. Simple robes had replaced the light armor of an arcane warrior, but the biggest difference was her eyes. Once dancing with humor, so full of passion, the eyes that looked at him now were entirely blank.

 _When the mages had told their grieving king that the Hero of Ferelden was somehow, miraculously, still alive, Alistair fell to his knees and thanked the Maker. He rushed to her bedside, and did not leave it for three days, until she finally awoke. When she did open her eyes, Alistair immediately knew something was wrong. Mages and doctors were brought in and consulted, and in time, Wardens from other nations came as well. None had an explanation for what had happened, but there was no denying it: Solona had kept her life, but had paid an even greater price in return._

Stricken, King Alistair, first of his name, turned and walked as quickly as he could out of Kinloch Hold. Unfazed by his abrupt departure, the enchanting Solona Amell, Tranquil in service the the Ferelden Circle of Magi, turned back to her her work. There was ever so much enchanting to do.


End file.
